Black Notoriety
by Havenhaven
Summary: FE: 10 Jarod hadn't expected anything out of life, and certainly not anything out of the afterlife. JarodAlder


A dim light fretted around the edges of his consciousness. It radiated a sense of wonder and fear, a fraction of emotions that whirled crazily in his mind. It seemed like his eyes were closed, but the encompassing gray shifted and retracted, grew and condensed. A presence was nearby; he knew, but didn't know why he knew. It suddenly receded, and he strained to feel it again. The impenetrable wash of gray disoriented his mind, the presence was something he knew, he was so sure it was. He didn't want to be sent to blunder through the tones of gray again; this was something he could hold, something he could feel. The edges grew brighter as a familiar feeling crept up his spine; anger, fury, a red tinged radiance that allowed the gray to take shape and spread.

Memories spread across the wide canvas of his mind. The anger found a justification.

To be handled so cheaply, nothing more than a street waif that had overstayed its welcome, to be discarded when options were bleak, it tore at…who? Who was- '…Jarod-."

Jarod. His name, he was sure. He felt his jaw shift, as if to speak the name, but he felt sure that a different word left his lips, even though no sound made itself known to the fallen soldier. The presence returned, a bright smear that drove away the shifting gray, giving life to colors. The tones pulled at each other, warring, attempting to bring a clear picture together. A soft sound, deep and resonate, caused the colors to slow.

Jarod found the words in the low noise, almost like a muted roar to his flawed hearing. '-strong…better than…' The roar seemed to vibrate within his mind, giving depth to the colors, giving them form and intensify. Eventually he could see a shadow against the growing colors. It might leave, so he raised his hand, nothing but another shadow against the wash of colors. The muted sounds in his head grew clearer, easier to understand. '-wasn't so hard…not much farther…'

He felt his fingers reach flesh. The shadow gained depth and detail, and Jarod recognized the face of a man that sent the emotions in his head whirling. His finger curled around the strong jaw, and a smile seemed to place itself on the man's tanned face.

He doesn't notice the colors coming to rest at the man's back and can finally hear the words in their meant clarity. "I see that you didn't waste any time coming after me," the deep voice said lightly, a foreign hand taking Jarod's hand from the dark skin and enclosing it.

"Al- lder," The name was spoken in a broken whisper. He filled his lungs with whatever exists in this new existence, despite the fact that his lungs didn't need to function anymore, and tried again. "Alder? Damn it, w-where is-, can't-." He grew frustrated as the right words wouldn't come and willed his eyes shut, total darkness enveloping all light and color. He could still feel the man nearby and clenched the hand around his tightly, nearly daring the other to try and leave him alone.

The voice came again. "It's alright," the baritone said smoothly. "You'll be fine." It's a lie, Jarod thought, but then another thought came. 'He's never lied to me,' the voice stated firmly, before immediately retracting itself, '-but he left. I ordered him to stay, and he left.' The voice continued while images began to paint the empty expanse of Jarod's thoughts. The pictures appeared rapidly, with an acute sense of familiarity.

A weather beaten hut, aflame against the night sky, bandits laughing and fright mounting as they realize he's been living here all alone…the duke seemed surprised, the sight of a gaunt adolescent holding the head of a wanted man and demanding a job giving him pause…having the command of his first platoon, eyes meeting those of his large lieutenant and wondering…a bloody war and the corruption of senators leaves him with nothing but a mordant smile playing at his lips when a deep voice makes a derisive retort about the senator's linage…a death, the only one he's ever wished to reverse, an all-encompassing rage…

His eyes were still closed, he doesn't want them opened, so he spoke quietly and pulled lightly on the large hand he held. "Where," was the quiet question. Alder bent low and spoke softly into Jarod's ear.

"Not sure," was the answer. "We're safe, and I haven't seen any rotten politicians yet, so I figure we'll just go along with it," A bark of rough laughter escaped Jarod's lips. He let his eyes open partially and was rewarded with the jagged features of Alder's face, eyes dark and calculating, mouth set in a familiar half-smile, and hair backlit by some imitation of the sun.

Jarod wondered if Alder was going to leave him, and didn't realize he'd asked the question until the other laughed and answered. "Hadn't planned on it," is the reply, "Like I said, there's something about you. I don't quite understand it myself, and I know you don't understand it," he said with another chuckle. Jarod thought he must be leaning against something, because Alder is getting closer, but he doesn't feel smothered or in fear of being fallen on.

"Yeah," Jarod replied, he doubted anyone could understand his motivations or reason for the terror that he was…is...he also never thought he'd grow so attached and used to someone that following them to the grave would be as instinctual as breathing.

He couldn't feel any breath on his face, but should have, since Alder was so close. "Would you care if I tried to?"

For all Jarod knew, they were the only two is this little world of color and light- 'and wind,' he decided as a breeze ruffled his hair and cooled his body. He gave a small nod and attempted to push himself forward, meeting tanned lips and pulling at Alder's shoulders with shaky hands. The world seemed much more real, and Jarod still didn't understand where he was, what he was, or why Alder was there.

He doesn't much care about the reason, but is glad nonetheless.


End file.
